Istanbul Breathing

The following is a poem I wrote during my first year living in Istanbul, in the early days of Spring. The weather did not resemble anything associated with Spring; it was still bitterly cold and everything was smokey and dark gray. Waking up at 5:45 to go to school was more difficult than ever, and early morning walks to the minibus were monochromatic and slow. The bleakness of the city held a small sense of hope and a great deal of bittersweet beauty that kept me going. It was poetic, if nothing else.

In the wake of March,
I tread against heavy covers to brave the morning. 

Tainted windowpanes
Meet mustard fog that clogs the six o’clock sunrise

Below the floorboards
Stale croissants and marmalade lay ready, but I

Choose a tiny peach,
And feel its crisp, cool skin against coffee-stained teeth.

Wading into mist,
I wobble between cobblestones and flashes of red and gold,

While smoke snakes between
Monochromatic umbrellas and faded leather,

And thick black coats 
Hobble between muffled wind and the memory that it is only Tuesday.